


11. Wow, you look… amazing.   / 44.  Is that my shirt?

by KittenKin



Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pining Sherlock Holmes, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/pseuds/KittenKin
Summary: John Watson in white tie is devastating. Sherlock Holmes in a stolen t-shirt is disarming.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605655
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	11. Wow, you look… amazing.   / 44.  Is that my shirt?

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Mycroft's cruelty and cunning knew no bounds.

Sherlock had refused to take on his latest request because it required exactly one (1) person, and he was particularly loathe to leave John unattended at this time. The man had managed to hang on to his latest girlfriend despite Sherlock's best efforts, and if left to his own devices might very well enjoy an uninterrupted evening with her and end up falling deeply in love or proposing or something equally awful.

So Mycroft had recruited John instead, leaving Sherlock to sulk alone on the sofa.

Barbarous, betraying bastards, the both of them.

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Mycroft sent John a garment bag, a stack of files, and a car. Sherlock sent him so many texts that John made a show of putting his phone in the refrigerator before going upstairs to dress for the evening.

Making a mental list of all the things he could do with said phone distracted Sherlock enough that he stayed quietly downstairs instead of shouting snidely delivered portents through John's door of how the evening could and likely would go wrong, proving that once again Sherlock was right and John should just stay home.

What if John met a buxom heiress?

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"A little help?"

Sherlock finished his edits to the numbers in John's contact list and looked up. And then dropped the phone.

Sweet silver-plated savior on a Salviati swizzle stick.

John in a frumpy jumper and exasperated smile tended to put a tingly-fuzzy glow in Sherlock's chest. John in full evening dress and a scowl triggered an acute myocardial infarction. Or at least, there was something making Sherlock want to collapse. To his knees. Right in front of the inverted V of the white waistcoat, where dangled a gold Saint Luke medal at the end of a matching watch chain.

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"Can't get this bloody thing tied, and I'm afraid it'll get wrinkly if I try too many times," John groused, flapping the bit of white fabric that was presumably his bow tie as he stomped across the floor. He stopped a few feet away from his flatmate and scowled even further at Sherlock's silent staring.

"What?"

Sherlock swallowed heavily and attempted to come back online.

"You look..."

Delicious. Desirable. Like a caramel petit-four iced with cocaine fondant and served on a folder containing conclusive proof to back up Sherlock's theory that Jack the Ripper was a midwife, not a madman.

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"Yeah, I know, ridiculous," John sighed.

"Amazing." Sherlock blurted out the ending to his sentence and then shut his mouth so hastily that he nearly clipped the end of his tongue clean off.

"Oh. Er...well, ta for that." The frown lines melted away into pleased surprise. With a much softened tone and a rueful smile, John repeated his request for assistance. "Help me with this bloody-minded bow tie?"

"Um. Let me just..." Sherlock scrabbled for John's phone, needing a moment in which to recover.

"Refresher course," he muttered, while looking up instructions on how to properly knot a bow tie.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Sherlock somehow survived the unbearable intimacy of tying John's tie while the man himself stared fondly up at him, chin lifted as if for a kiss. Then, the coup de grâce; John departed. To add insult to mortal injury, he did so with an extra spring in his step, Sherlock's unfiltered compliment having buoyed up his confidence and raised his spirits.

So now, thanks to Sherlock's traitorous mouth and unruly heart, John was off to mingle his way through a ballroom, armed with Gieves & Hawkes, an easy demeanor, and a devastating grin.

Sherlock screamed into the Union Jack cushion.

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Sherlock was surprised to wake up, not having intended to fall asleep in the first place. Certainly not while sneaking a cuddle with John's jacket.

And lying in John's bed.

And wearing John's most recently discarded sleep shirt.

And waiting for John to come home, which John had obviously just done.

In one smooth move, Sherlock pushed John's jacket over the far side of the bed, - out of sight, out of mind; John was a bit like a budgerigar in that way - sat up, placed his hands primly in his lap, and inquired as to the success of the mission.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

"Um," John replied, remaining frozen in the doorway for a moment more before giving himself a shake. "Yeah, went fine. Got the photos and intel Mycroft wante-- no, hang on, why are you in my b-- _is that my shirt?_ "

Choosing to address the only response that had been both a complete sentence and not a question in turn, Sherlock shot up, clapped his hands together, then attempted to swish his way past John and escape downstairs.

"Well done! That's Mycroft out of our hair for a few weeks at least. Do shed that ridiculous get-up John. I'll make tea."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

He was, sadly, accosted in the doorway. John didn't seem to know what to do with Sherlock's elbow once he'd grabbed it, however, and the clothes-thief attempted to wiggle away.

"What happened to 'amazing'?" John protested, rapidly regathering his wits.

"Anything would be an improvement over your usual attire," Sherlock snarked. The lack of any actual sass was deafening, and he could see it in the way John's mouth twitched.

"Was afraid you'd destroy the flat," John mused. He stroked the crook of Sherlock's elbow, and hummed thoughtfully at the shiver it produced. "Looks like you were lonesome, not sulky."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Sherlock drew breath to categorically deny this accusation, but deflated in a great, gusty sigh at John's next murmur.

"I missed you too." He looked up, glanced away, then re-settled his gaze upon Sherlock's; nervous, determined. "How would it be if I got changed while you made tea, and then we had a little cuddle on the sofa while I told you all about Count Sylvius?"

Sherlock stared, then shut his mouth when he realized it had dropped open. (His transport was getting quite unruly.)

"That...would be..." he floundered.

"Amazing?" John suggested.

"Yes. That. Yes."

"Good. I think so too."

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End file.
